Chapter XL.
A HAVEN OF PEACE.
The night passed; a night of happy contentment. In picturesque groups on the deck the company slept, their eyes covered from the light of the tropical night. The sentry tramped the deck, listened to the cries from the forest and the salty pool, watched the fireflies as they darted to and fro, and called out the hours and the state of the night whenever the ship's bell sent its musical note echoing from bank to bank of the creek, and rousing the denizens of the forest around. A bird sang in the grove, tuning its lay to reproduce the notes of every songster that had warbled during the daytime. The scents from the masses of flowers, that clustered the banks and wound their tendrils round the giant trees, floated fragrantly on the night air. There was peace in the heavens above and the downward glances of the quiet-eyed stars; there was peace in forest and pool, and sweet sounds and fragrant odours; the ship rocked gently on the flowing tide in a haven that might have been a harbour on the shores of a paradise. And the sleeping men dreamed pleasant dreams, for the scents of the flowers came insensibly into their nostrils, and the song of the bird beat rhythmically on their resting brains. Here, a sailor laughed softly and musically in his sleep; there, a gallant young gentleman murmured a beloved name, as the face of the one beloved passed by in a sweet vision of the night. In his sleep many a one was already at the home where he would be; his hard-won treasures glittered on the familiar table, and he gave this to one and that to another, hung a chain on a fair young neck or pressed a ring on a dainty finger. Johnnie Morgan stood by the river, exactly as he had stood on that bright March morning when Dolly came up and begged for a reconciliation. She came again; the gulls flew over the sands, and the sun shone warmly. Ah! how long it was since that March morning.
The feathered singer in the tree ceased his singing, and hid his head under his wing as his bright-plumaged fellows had done. The stars paled; nature stirred in her sleep; the sailor on the deck felt the tremor that quivered through the animate world, and rubbed his eyes more vigorously. A breeze moved through the trees; the ripple of the water was more distinct; there was a splash—another—another. A frog croaked sleepily to his fellows, and got no answer for a while. A yellow band stretched across the eastern horizon; it tinged the heaving waters, it flecked the trees with gold. The whole forest rustled and twittered. A bird flew down to the water. A parrot screamed noisily; a sleeper started up from his hard couch. The sentinel cried the hour, and announced a fine morning. The world heard him and woke up.
The day was to be a day of great things. Overnight nothing had been done, and no man had gone ashore. The decks were cleaned, prayers said, breakfast eaten, and the rough plan of Oxenham's hiding-place nailed down on the compass-box, where all could see it. Then Captain Drake and the gentlemen of the company went ashore with Nick and Ned Johnson. Hearts beat excitedly in the ship's boat, and hearts throbbed in unison amongst those who waited on the deck. The party landed. They clambered up the bank and pushed aside the tangled undergrowth, some of the men using their swords in order to make the quicker way. Some one kicks against a mass of green creeper; his boot strikes something wooden and hollow; he has not lighted upon an empty bush. Quickly he tears aside the clinging mass; a beautifully striped snake wriggles out, hissing angrily. The man scarcely heeds the dangerous thing. He shouts aloud; the others come up. What has he found? The ruins of one of Oxenham's boats. Nick recognizes it. "I worked to help build it," he says softly. "The Dons came upon us before we could finish." The rough fellow uncovered his head.
The adventurers gazed with a strange interest upon the relic of a former bold adventure. They turned it over almost reverently. "Brave John Oxenham!" murmured Captain Drake.
But sentimental recollections were soon swept away. The discovery of the half-finished boat put aside all doubts as to the identity of their anchorage with that of Oxenham's. "How far off was the treasure buried?" was the next eager question.
"Just out of the tide-way in the heart of a cluster of mangroves; we notched the biggest tree," answered Nick. He looked around. "Yonder's the spot," he cried. All followed him.
The quick-growing vegetation had enwreathed the trees with gay creepers, but Nick soon found the mark of the axe on the bark. Undergrowths choked up the gaps between the trunks of the trees, but a couple of axes cleared a path. The men thronged into the inner space. The ground was hard and overgrown, and certainly had not been touched for a long time. Hopes rose higher than ever. Apparently the ground had never been disturbed since Oxenham's visit. Captain Drake decided to get to work at once. He rowed back to the ship, ordered the pickaxes and shovels to be brought up from below, and chose out a first gang of sailors and soldiers to go ashore and commence digging. A couple of hours ought to suffice for the securing of the treasure.
The men tumbled into the boat, eager enough to begin. They rowed ashore, stripped themselves to the waist, and set to work with a will, cheering one another on with boisterous jests. Captain Drake remained aboard. Sir John Trelawny and some of the adventurers superintended the digging. Timothy Jeffreys and Johnnie Morgan wandered off along the stream, hoping to light upon some game for the replenishing of the larder. Nick Johnson pointed out a spring, and others of the company busied themselves filling the barrels with fresh water. All were animated, and occupied in some useful way or other.